


The Way It Goes

by bethfrish



Category: Hardy Boys - Franklin W. Dixon, Hotel Dusk
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-09
Updated: 2009-12-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 18:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethfrish/pseuds/bethfrish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know, Bradley, maybe you just need to find a new career.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way It Goes

You hadn't even made detective when Fenton Hardy gave the shocking announcement that he was retiring from the force. He walked away from it all—the badge, the honor, the whole shebang—just to move to some Podunk little town in upstate New York. Said he wanted to be a private investigator, like all of a sudden the NYPD wasn't good enough to be on the receiving end of his talents. Said he didn't want his boys to grow up in the city. Rookie or not, even you'd known that Fenton Hardy had his head too far up his own ass to worry about who bought which set of reasons. The whole precinct had a party in his honor, you chipped in five dollars for a gift you don't think you ever saw, and everyone tried to act like it wasn't his closure rate you were going to miss most of all.

You really didn't think you'd ever see Mr. Big Shot again, except one day you look up from your desk and there he is, grinning down at you with his arms folded across his chest. 

"Officer Bradley. How long has it been?" he asks good-naturedly, sticking his hand out at you. 

You stand up to reciprocate. "Detective Bradley, actually," you sort of joke, even though you're wearing a suit and the nameplate on your desk clearly indicates your rank. He chuckles apologetically. "So... How's business?" you ask slowly, wondering what the hell he's doing here. 

Before he can answer, your partner comes up behind you and drops a pile of folders on your desk. "These bastards—Oh," he says abruptly, suddenly noticing that you're otherwise engaged. "Uh, hello." 

Fenton offers his hand. "I don't believe we know each other. Fenton Hardy." 

"Oh, right. Thought you looked familiar." Your partner clears his throat awkwardly. "Kyle Hyde." 

"Pleased to meet you, Detective Hyde," Fenton smiles, and motions for his boys to come over. 

The last time you saw his kids was when they were about ten years old, and the only reason you even remember their names is because they pop up in the paper so damn much. Frank looks just like his father now, dark-haired and handsome in that generic, Hollywood sort of way. He shakes your hand kindly and tells you he remembers you. 

Joe says hello too, and then turns to Kyle. He looks so much unlike his brother, you have to wonder if Mrs. Hardy wasn't getting friendly with the milkman while her husband was out on the job. Joe's grown up to favor the "pretty" end of the spectrum, all blue eyes and full lips, and when Kyle introduces himself, his smile's a lot different from the one he gave you. 

Ask any cop around and he'll tell you that the last thing you need is some PI sticking his nose in the middle of your routine, but Fenton Hardy's a different story. Fenton Hardy can waltz right in and hold up three day's worth of paperwork. Snap his fingers and all of a sudden he's the one in charge. "The Hardys have the full cooperation of our department," the Chief informs everyone before stepping out for lunch. "We will do our best to assist them in any way we can." 

Fenton shoots the breeze with you for what seems like forever, so you're caught off guard when he finally gets to his point. "I have to drive to Albany with Frank to check up on something," he explains obscurely, "but I was hoping you could take Joe with you tonight and visit some of these addresses here." 

You look at him like he's lost his mind, like his vision must be going bad, because how else could anyone miss the tower of reports taking up ample real estate on your desk? _I'm pretty sure these were dug out of storage for you, dipshit_ , you want to tell him, but then you feel Kyle's hand on your back. 

"Detective Bradley's got a lot to do here," he says, and you make a mental note to buy him lunch. "I'll go with Joe." 

It takes you the entire evening to work through the mess on your desk, and when the phone rings at two o'clock in the morning, you seriously begin to contemplate wrapping the cord around your neck and just ending it right there. 

"Bradley," you grumble into the receiver, glancing around to realize that you're the only one in the damn office. Nice to see the night shift pulling its weight. 

"Hey, it's me. I'm glad you're still there." 

You twirl the cord around your finger, swallowing a yawn. "Always a pleasure, Hyde. What's up? And where the fuck are you? It's two in the morning." 

"Hey, listen," Kyle says, his voice strangely low. "Anyone asks, the kid and I came down to the precinct at ten and helped you with your...whatever they've got you doing." 

"What?" you ask, squinting at nothing in particular. "What the hell are you talking about? Where are you?" 

"We were at the station from ten on, okay?" 

"Yeah, all right. Fine," you agree. "Did you take Joe back to his hotel or is he still with you?" 

The other end goes so quiet that for a second you're afraid you're going to have to call for backup. "He's here," Kyle says after a moment, and you chew your lip when he makes you promise again. 

The next morning all three Hardys come in looking significantly worse for wear. You hardly catch a glimpse of Joe, but the other two approach you as you're digging your morning donut out of its bag. Fifteen cents at the bakery down the street. A luxury for a lowly detective like you. 

"These should help," you tell Fenton, handing him a stack of papers. "Long night?" 

He clasps Frank on the shoulder. "And how," he says loudly. "You try driving to Albany and back. Joe doesn't seem to have gotten much sleep either," he adds, motioning to where Joe's seated next to Kyle at his desk. 

He turns away too quickly, but you've already confirmed everything you need to know, noticed everything that Fenton Hardy hasn't. Like how Joe keeps touching Kyle's arm in a way that's far too familiar, or how pink and bruised his lips look, or how Kyle keeps glancing meaningfully in your direction, even as Joe leans in close enough for their shoulders to touch. 

You cough slightly. "Yes, well. He and Detective Hyde were here late last night, helping me with all this paperwork," you say. "Couldn't have finished it without them." 

"Good to hear," Fenton says with a smile, and leaves to busy himself with more pressing matters. 

Frank stays where he is, leaning idly against your desk as he watches his brother go over to the coffee maker with two paper cups. "You know," he says coldly, "in a lot of ways, I'm a much better detective than my father is." 

You look up from your report, shaking your head as you fill the silence with empty laughter. "Sometimes that's the way it goes," you tell him, and lean over to offer him a piece of your fifteen-cent donut.


End file.
